How To Fix “Talking Heads” in Your Story (And Make Dialogue Dynamic)
How To Fix “Talking Heads” in Your Story (And Make Dialogue Dynamic)
Ever read a scene where two characters are talking… and talking… and talking… and somehow it feels like they’re floating in a white room?
No sense of space. No movement. No texture. Just lines of dialogue stacked on top of each other.
That’s what writers call “talking heads.” It’s when your characters speak, but they don’t exist physically. They’re just voices in a void.
And here’s the tricky part: the dialogue itself might actually be good. Sharp. Emotional. Even funny. But the scene still feels flat.
I’ve written scenes like this. I’ve revised scenes like this. And every time, the problem wasn’t the words—it was the missing world around them.
Let’s break down why this happens and how to fix it in a way that makes your dialogue feel alive instead of staged.
Why Talking Heads Happen
Most of the time, it’s not laziness. It’s focus.
When I’m drafting, I tend to get excited about what my characters are saying. The confession. The argument. The secret reveal. So I write the exchange quickly, almost like a script.
But fiction isn’t a screenplay. In a novel, the reader can’t see the actors or the set. If we don’t put those on the page, they don’t exist.
Another big reason? We’re afraid of slowing things down. We think adding action or setting will “interrupt” the dialogue.
Here’s the truth: action doesn’t slow dialogue—it deepens it.
Let me show you what I mean.
Flat version:
“You lied to me.”
“I didn’t have a choice.”
“You always have a choice.”
It’s not terrible. But where are they? What are they doing? How do we feel the tension?
Now look at this:
“You lied to me.” She keeps her voice steady, but the coffee in her hands ripples.
He stares at the table instead of her face. “I didn’t have a choice.”
She laughs—sharp, humorless. “You always have a choice.”
See the difference? The words are similar, but now we have physical cues, emotional leakage, and power shifts.
That’s the difference between voices in space and people in a room.
Why Static Dialogue Kills Momentum
Here’s something that took me way too long to learn: dialogue alone doesn’t automatically create tension.
Tension comes from friction. And friction happens in bodies and environments, not just in speech.
When characters stand still and exchange lines, nothing is pushing against them. There’s no resistance from the setting. No distractions. No physical stakes.
Think about a heated argument in real life. People pace. They slam cabinets. They avoid eye contact. They grip their phone too tight. Maybe the dog starts barking. Maybe someone’s halfway out the door.
All of that affects the emotional rhythm.
When we strip those elements away, the scene becomes oddly polite—even if the words are harsh.
Static dialogue also blurs character voices. Without physical behavior, everyone starts sounding similar. Behavior is what personalizes speech.
One character folds laundry while arguing. Another reorganizes a bookshelf just to avoid looking at someone. Another storms out mid-sentence.
Those actions tell us who they are.
Simple Ways to Make Dialogue Feel Real
Ground the scene in a real place
Before anyone speaks, I like to ask myself: Where are they standing? What’s in the room? What’s annoying or uncomfortable right now?
Setting shouldn’t be wallpaper. It should interact with the scene.
If two siblings are arguing at a hospital bedside, that’s very different from arguing in a crowded bar. The beeping machines, the smell of antiseptic, the awkwardness of whispering—those details shape the dialogue.
Try this: remove the character names from your scene. Could the same conversation happen in an empty white room? If yes, you probably need more grounding.
Let characters move with purpose
Movement shouldn’t be random filler. It should reveal something.
Instead of:
“I’m fine.”
Try:
“I’m fine.” He wipes the counter again, even though it’s already clean.
That repetitive action tells us more than the line itself.
Or:
“I don’t care.” She shrugs, but her nails dig into her palm.
Now the body contradicts the words. And that’s where things get interesting.
The body often tells the truth before the mouth does.
Break up long exchanges
If you see five lines of back-and-forth with no interruption, that’s a red flag.
Real conversations get interrupted by the world.
Maybe someone drops a plate. Maybe a phone buzzes. Maybe one character walks to the window and sees something that shifts their mood.
Those interruptions aren’t distractions—they’re opportunities.
Imagine this:
“I never meant to hurt you.”
“That doesn’t change what happened.”
Now add a small action:
“I never meant to hurt you.”
A car backfires outside. She flinches like she’s been shot.
“That doesn’t change what happened.”
Now the scene has texture. A pulse.
Replace explanation with behavior
This is one of my favorite fixes.
If a character says exactly what they feel, ask yourself if you can show it instead.
Instead of:
“I’m really nervous about tonight.”
Try:
He checks his phone again. And again. The screen hasn’t changed.
You don’t need the label. We understand.
When readers get to interpret behavior, they feel smarter and more involved. And that involvement makes dialogue dynamic.
How to Tell If Your Dialogue Is Actually Working
Here’s a little checklist I use when revising.
Ask yourself:
- Does something change by the end of the conversation?
- Does the emotional temperature rise or fall?
- Does someone gain or lose power?
- Do the characters interact with their environment?
- Could this scene play out the same way in an empty void?
If nothing shifts, you don’t have a scene—you have an exchange of information.
And scenes are about change.
One last example to drive this home.
Flat:
“Are you leaving?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow.”
Dynamic:
“Are you leaving?”
He zips the suitcase without looking at her. “Yes.”
She steps in front of the door. “When?”
“Tomorrow.” He doesn’t stop packing.
Now there’s movement. Obstruction. Implied conflict. The setting is part of the tension.
That’s what we’re aiming for.
Dialogue shouldn’t feel like two floating heads trading lines. It should feel like two humans occupying space, colliding with each other, and changing something in the process.
And once you start layering in environment, movement, and behavior, you’ll notice something cool: your dialogue gets shorter—but way more powerful.
Simple Ways to Make Dialogue Feel Real
If you take nothing else from this article, take this: dialogue becomes dynamic the moment it interacts with something physical. The room. The body. The weather. An object. A memory triggered by a smell.
When I revise a scene that feels flat, I don’t immediately rewrite the dialogue. I look for what’s missing around it.
Let’s dig into practical fixes you can actually use today.
Anchor every conversation in a specific place
Vague settings create vague tension.
If your characters are “in a house,” that’s not enough. Which room? What time of day? What’s the light doing? Is it quiet? Too quiet?
Compare these:
“We need to talk,” she said in the living room.
Versus:
“We need to talk.” She stands in the doorway of his childhood bedroom, ducking beneath the glow-in-the-dark stars still stuck to the ceiling.
The second version carries history. Context. Subtext. The space itself adds meaning.
When I write, I try to name at least one concrete detail early in the scene. A chipped mug. A flickering light. A cracked windshield. Something tangible.
Specificity creates emotional weight.
Give characters something to do
People rarely sit perfectly still while discussing something important. They multitask, fidget, clean, scroll, drive, pack.
Action isn’t decoration—it’s revelation.
Let’s say two friends are arguing.
Flat version:
“You never support me.”
“That’s not true.”
Now give them physical behavior:
“You never support me.” She keeps her eyes on the cake she’s frosting, smoothing the same spot over and over.
“That’s not true.” He leans against the counter, arms crossed, not offering to help.
Suddenly, the frosting becomes symbolic. Her repeated motion shows anxiety or frustration. His stillness and crossed arms suggest defensiveness.
The cake didn’t just fill space. It deepened the conflict.
Whenever I’m stuck, I ask: What are their hands doing right now?
It sounds simple, but hands are emotional giveaways.
Use small reactions instead of big declarations
Writers sometimes go big with emotion when small would be more powerful.
Instead of:
“I’m furious with you.”
Try:
“Okay.” He nods once. Too sharp. Too controlled.
Restraint can carry more tension than shouting.
Here’s another example:
“It doesn’t matter,” she said angrily.
Versus:
“It doesn’t matter.” She presses her lips together so tightly they turn white.
The second version trusts the reader to interpret.
Behavior invites readers to participate. Explanation keeps them at a distance.
Let the setting push back
Your world shouldn’t just exist—it should interfere.
Imagine a breakup happening:
Version A:
“I think we should end this.”
“Fine.”
Version B:
“I think we should end this.”
The train screeches into the station, drowning out whatever she says next.
“What?” he shouts.
She hesitates. “Forget it.”
Now the environment complicates the moment. It adds tension, delay, and maybe even regret.
Noise, heat, cramped space, interruptions—these things create friction.
I once rewrote a quiet kitchen argument by moving it outside during a thunderstorm. The lightning flashes and pounding rain did half the emotional work for me.
Cut dialogue that repeats what action already shows
Sometimes the fastest way to fix talking heads is subtraction.
If a character slams a door hard enough to rattle the frame, do they also need to say, “I’m so angry right now”?
Probably not.
Here’s a quick test I use:
- If the action makes the emotion clear, delete the explanatory line.
- If the line says exactly what the action already shows, cut one of them.
- If both feel necessary, make sure they contradict in an interesting way.
Contradiction is gold.
“I’m happy for you.” She doesn’t blink.
Now we’re curious.
When dialogue and action clash, the scene gains depth.
How to Make Dialogue Feel Alive
Fixing talking heads isn’t just about adding movement. It’s about making sure the conversation actually does something.
I used to think a good conversation scene just needed clever lines. But clever isn’t enough.
A dynamic scene changes something.
Make sure the conversation shifts power
Every real conversation has a power dynamic, even subtle ones.
Who’s asking questions?
Who’s avoiding them?
Who stands? Who sits?
Who controls the exit?
Let’s look at this:
“Tell me what happened.”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
Now add power cues:
“Tell me what happened.” He stays seated. Calm.
She remains standing, keys still in her hand. “Nothing.”
“Don’t lie to me.” He doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t need to.
His stillness reads as control. Her stance near the door suggests escape.
Power can shift mid-scene too.
“You don’t get to judge me,” she says.
He reaches past her and opens the door. “I’m not.”
That small action changes the emotional balance.
When revising, I ask: Who has power at the beginning? Who has it at the end?
If the answer is “no one” or “it’s the same,” I look for ways to create movement.
Raise or lower the emotional temperature
Not every scene needs shouting. But it does need a shift.
Maybe the scene starts polite and grows tense.
“Can we talk?”
“Sure.”
Later:
“You read my messages?”
“You left your phone unlocked.”
Now the temperature has risen.
Or the opposite. Maybe it starts explosive and ends in quiet devastation.
“You’re unbelievable!”
Silence.
“I just wanted you to stay.”
That drop in volume can be more powerful than escalation.
Think in terms of emotional weather. Is it storming harder by the end? Or has everything gone eerily still?
Use silence strategically
Here’s something that feels counterintuitive: sometimes the most dynamic line is no line at all.
Instead of filling every gap with dialogue, let a reaction land.
“Say something.”
He watches the ceiling fan spin. Once. Twice. Three times.
Silence creates tension because readers lean in.
I’ve found that when I remove one unnecessary line and replace it with a physical beat, the scene breathes.
Make sure something changes
This is the big one.
If the characters walk into the scene feeling X and walk out feeling exactly X, you probably have a static exchange.
Change can be small.
Maybe:
- One character learns a secret.
- Someone makes a decision.
- A relationship cracks.
- A plan forms.
- Trust erodes.
- Hope appears.
Even a subtle shift matters.
Compare:
Version A:
“I’m not ready,” she said.
“Okay,” he replied.
End scene.
Version B:
“I’m not ready,” she says.
He nods. Slowly. “Then I won’t ask again.”
That scares her more than anything.
Now something changed. The stakes moved.
When dialogue causes a new emotional reality, it stops being decorative and starts being transformative.
And that’s the difference between a conversation and a scene.
Before You Leave
If your dialogue feels flat, don’t panic. It doesn’t mean you’re bad at writing conversations. It usually just means the world around your characters hasn’t been invited in yet.
Start small. Add one concrete detail. Give someone something to hold. Let the room interrupt them. Cut a line that over-explains.
Then ask yourself: Did anything change?
When your characters occupy space, react physically, and leave a scene different than they entered, the talking heads disappear.
And what’s left feels human.
